


Liars must walk the plank!

by highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Holmes Brothers' Childhood, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock Holmes, Kid!Lock, Pirates, Why is Father Christmas not a tag??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath/pseuds/highfunctioningsupersoldiersociopath
Summary: It's a week until Christmas, and there are mixed feelings in the Holmes household...





	Liars must walk the plank!

“Father Christmas is not real, Sherlock. You know that.”

“Stop lying, Mycroft! He is real, he is. You’re a big fat liar!” Tiny hands started tugging on curly hair as the youngest boy’s mind struggled to sort facts from fiction.

Suddenly, something seemed to click in Sherlock’s mind as his face relaxed and he crouched down to pick up the small wooden sword that had been lying at his feet.

“Do you know what we do to liars, Myc? They have to walk the plank!” Sherlock exclaimed, settling his tricorne hat upon his mop of curls and pointing the tip of the sword into young Mycroft’s pudge.

The elder brother gave a withered sigh and raised his hands in surrender. This would be the fifth time this week he would have had to ‘walk the plank,’ which consisted of a stile leading over a wall from one field to another that neighboured their house, and it was only Tuesday.

After insisting that Sherlock put his coat on before he went outside, Mycroft was led to the edge of the field. He knew the drill by now; hesitate at the low wall and get poked in the bottom, climb delicately onto the wall that didn’t look safe at all, and then slowly get pushed to the stile where he would then jump into shark-infested waters, or, from his point of view, over-grown grass.

“Any last words from the liar?”

Mycroft thought for a moment, before deciding he’d had enough of Sherlock’s antics, said, “Father Christmas isn’t real. Use your brain, Sherlock.” He jumped before he could be pushed, and started to walk back to the house where he could read by the warmth of the fire.

“Argh, there he goes me hearties!” he heard his brother exclaim, still stuck in his imaginary world of sword fights and lost treasure. “The sharks will have a feast tonight!”

The worst bit about it was the twenty-fifth was still a week away.


End file.
